


Sweet Dreams, my love

by thewronglong



Series: My Love [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Coming Untouched, Drinking, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Apocalypse, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 08:24:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewronglong/pseuds/thewronglong
Summary: Crowley passes out after a night of heavy drinking. Aziraphale stays up to drunkenly read, and maybe steal a few glances at his demon's sleeping form.





	Sweet Dreams, my love

Crowley had fallen asleep, or maybe passed out would be the proper term. Neither he nor Aziraphale had bothered sobering up even though it was well past four. Aziraphale sat slumped in his chair. He'd made a half hearted attempt at reading, but the words just wouldn't sit still on the pages. He'd considered sobering up, but if he did, he wouldn't have an excuse to tell himself why he'd spent the last hour or more watching the demon sleep. Well, actually he knew why he did it, the same reason he'd done so countless times before. So he could stare. Sure, he could look while the demon was awake, but moments like this where he could just sit there and take him in were different, special. 

Aziraphale had long ago stopped asking the demon to keep his feet off the furniture. The results of the demon's attempts at comfort were much more interesting than a clean sofa. At the moment he was laying with one foot propped on the back of the sofa while the other foot is flat on the floor. His face, much to the chagrin of the angel, was half covered by his arm, his glasses long since discarded somewhere in the shop. This meant that Aziraphale's study of the demon had drifted downwards. Right now his focus was on a thin strip of stomach, barely an inch, that was exposed just above a certain snakey belt buckle. 

If Aziraphale had been American and the sort to listen to such music, which he definitely wasn't, he would be reminded of a song, Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off… or something along those lines. In reality, the drink in question was whiskey, and Crowley's clothes never really fell off, they were shed like unnecessary skins over the course of the evening. It would start, if Crowley was wearing his hair long like it was now, with a messy red bun when the heat of drunkenness began to set in. This would expose the demons long slender neck. Aziraphale would wonder how many kisses it would take to cover the long path from behind Crowley's ear to the collar bone that would inevitably be shown next when the top two buttons of a dress shirt would be undone. A jacket would then be remembered then discarded, and if he was wearing a waistcoat that would go next. He would end up as he was now, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, belt loose but not completely undone. He hadn't made it so far that his boots came off, but that had only happened once and he complained about cold feet when he finally woke.

Aziraphale startled a bit when the demon grunted in his sleep, wiggling a bit as if to find comfort. The angel looked back to his book in fear of Crowley waking and finding himself being watched. He had nothing to fear, after a few minutes the demon settled again. Crowley often moved and sometimes talked in his sleep, even going so far as to fall off the sofa on occasion. One time he didn't even wake up. The angel had just miracled him up a blanket and left him on the carpet. 

Aziraphale continued to read until he heard the sounds "mmmmh 'Zira" come muffled from under a skinny arm. His eyes shot up. Was Crowley dreaming about him? What sorts of dreams could the demon possibly be having about him? He peered over his spectacles at the demon's covered face. No indication there. He let his eyes wander slowly down the lithe form sprawled just a few feet away, his eyes stopping abruptly at the bulge that had grown in the front of Crowley's very tight jeans. He could see the outline of the demons cock pressed against the denim. It was long and not too thin, the perfect size to feel slide into his… Stop it, Aziraphale, he chided himself. But oh, how would it feel to run his tongue over the outline of the ridge he saw straining against dark fabric. Crowley obviously wasn't wearing underwear.

The demon jerked with a gasp causing the angel to let out a small squeak as he lifted his book to hide the blush on his face, his legs crossing to hide his own embarrassing reaction to the display the sleeping Crowley had offered. He pretended to read like his life depended on it, but when he glanced up it appeared that his friend hadn't awakened after all.

Crowley, despite appearances, had jerked himself awake at the moment, but he managed to hide it well, a defense mechanism he'd developed long ago. It took him a second, and hearing Aziraphale's soft gasp a few feet away to remember where he was. Then he realized what had caused the gasp. He was rock hard, his prick aching with both need and from the unfortunate angle it was forced to take in his very tight pants. He willed his face to not turn red when it had occurred to him that the angel had very much noticed his predicament. He ran over his options in his head. He could "wake up" and pretend nothing was out of the ordinary and flee from the shop, hoping to keep his pride in tact, or he could continue to pretend to sleep and hope it goes away on its own. That seemed unlikely considering his cock's seemingly great interest in being noticed by the angel. First things first, he had to slow his bloody heart down before it beat right out of his chest. A panic attack was the last thing he needed right now.

Crowley let his mouth open, just a bit. Slow, deep breaths, he told himself, gotta calm down. The air passed over his tongue, smells and tastes mixed with the remnants of red wine… the bookshop's familiar odor, his cologne, Aziraphale's after shave, his own arousal… and… he took another slow breath, searching, seeking out a smell he'd only gotten a hint of before. Was Aziraphale… aroused? The pheromones the angel was putting out were strong and went straight to his dick. Fuck, he didn't know he could get this hard. He had to do something, find a way to adjust himself, it was torturous.

He weighed his options, finding pretending to sleep was the only way. If he got up it would be mortifying to them both. If the angel was truly well offended he would throw a blanket over him and go upstairs to his flat. But none of that happened. What did happen was Crowley, still pretending sleep, used a bit of a miracle along with a small stretch, willed his cock into a more comfortable position. With a slight shift of his leg and a lift of his hips, it sat straight up pointing to his belly, he almost sighed with relief. His relief was short lived because he heard a sound come from the angel, a noise he had never heard before. It was a soft squeak of an "oh!" Breathy and full of lust. Crowley realized then that he could feel a cool breeze brush against the tip of his cock. 

Aziraphale clapped his hands over his mouth when he heard the sound escape it. He'd been trying his best to pretend to read, but his eyes, damn them, betrayed him. Just another peek, a glance, then he'd just ignore the whole thing. Maybe have a few more drinks… upstairs, by himself. If he can manage to get up without waking the demon. It wouldn't do to have Crowley awaken with Aziraphale standing over him with a raging hard on. Maybe he'd use a miracle. What he saw when he'd drawn his eyes over the edge of his book was completely unexpected. There, peeking out from under Crowley's trousers, just above a snakeskin belt, was the head of Crowley's cock, and another inch or more besides. 

Aziraphale licked his lips, the book in his hand, forgotten, lowered itself to the arm of the chair. The angel knew he should leave, or at least cover the demon, but that would mean acknowledging that he'd seen that lovely bit of flesh red with the need of its sleeping owner, pressed against Crowley's pale stomach leaking pre cum on his treasure trail. Aziraphale's own cock throbbed in sympathy, a dark patch forming on the khaki it strained against. The angel wasn't paying much attention to his own cock, he was busy memorizing every vein and curve Crowley's. He wondered what it would be like to sink to his knees beside the sofa and press his lips to that bit of forbidden flesh. He bit at his bottom lip as he imagined the feel of the hot hard flesh pressed against his tongue. It would be so easy. Crowley would like it, he'd groan and unbutton his fly for him, pulling out the hard length just waiting to be surrounded by his mouth. He'd buck and cry out as he came hard down his throat. But he couldn't. He didn't realize his breath was coming out in short puffs now, his hips moving in slow circles on their own.

Crowley was a wreck. He fought hard to control his own breath. In through his mouth, out through his nose, tasting Aziraphale's heat. He knew the angel was watching, turned on, breathing hard now. He wished he was in position to see him like that, face flushed, cock straining, perhaps being stroked under a throw, or even out in the open, thick and heavy in his hand, dripping from the tip, all for him. He wanted to miracle himself naked, maybe put on a show for his angel, stroking himself and bucking before finally setting himself down on those plush thighs and sinking down on his cock. 

The thought caused Crowley to buck his hips for real, his release hitting him like a sledgehammer to his brain. The syllables "Ang-gel" flowing from his lips before he could stop them.

Aziraphale watched, eyes wide, as Crowley's beautiful cock began to spurt pearly white streaks on his abdomen and gray t-shirt. The demon's utterance was too much. He grabbed at his own cock and in one hard squeezing stroke began to fill his underwear with what seemed like an endless amount of his own sticky cum. He didn't think he'd grunted the name "Crowley" as be came, but he couldn't be sure. 

By the time Aziraphale recovered and his shame began to set in Crowley was snoring (or at least pretending to) and his cock was no longer visible. Just as well. Aziraphale waved his hand cleaning both of them up. He worried about the unpleasant potential consequences of that particular miracle later, but nothing ever came of it. Perhaps everyone was too busy with the upcoming Apocalypse. 

Aziraphale stood and grabbed a nearby throw, covering the sleeping demon. "Sweet dreams, my love," he whispered as he turned to trudge up the stairs to his flat. He had wanted to lean down and kiss the demon's cheek, but he'd never get that. What he'd gotten tonight had to be good enough, but he knew it never would.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smutty fic of this pairing. I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it. 
> 
> Comments welcome.
> 
> Love to all of you!


End file.
